


Get Ready to Tumble

by TheGracefulDarkness



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Tumblr Prompts, but this is a mattimir oneshot collection, indications of sex, may bring in some mattoly, one shots, prob will mainly be mattimir, will most likely have sex in later oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-06 07:20:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4212900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGracefulDarkness/pseuds/TheGracefulDarkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of oneshots that I am writing about mattimir. If you have a prompt/idea you want me to write about send it over to me on my tumblr: bloggingnstuff and hopefully I'll be able to write it for you:) I'll also be posting them on tumblr as well, but if you want to read through them easily and all at once, they'll be here. Whoever sends me prompts, I'll make sure to mention you in the description or summary of each one shot! Enjoy:)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fuck Marry Kill

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr user: the-lavi-to-your-kanda (they have a lot of great prompts, you should check em out!)  
> Okay but bro; Foggy, Karen, Matt, Vlad and Anatoly playing Fuck, Marry, Kill.

“Okay, okay, Karen, you go. Uh, Iron Man, Black Widow.... Me,” Foggy stammers out in front of the group.

 

“Your methods of finding if she likes you are pitiful,” Vladimir grunts, bottle of vodka pressing lightly against his lips.

 

“Shut up, Scar Face, and let us play the game in peace. Why’d you even invite them anyways, Matt?” The blond lawyer gestures to the two crime lords sprawling out by Matt’s large window, casting luminous colors against their harsh features. 

 

The man in question shrugs, not too sure himself. “They brought booze, are you really complaining?”

 

“We’re lawyers, Matty, meant to uphold the law and here we are playing with the bad guys,” Foggy eyes the pile of bottles - some full, a few empty. “Alright, perhaps we can have a truce, _just_ for tonight.”

 

Karen hits Foggy’s leg, trying to get his attention. Surprisingly she was the first out of the group to down an entire bottle of tequila and she’s just starting her first round of shots. “I would... _so_ fuck Tony, because, well just _because._ Kill... No, No,” she pauses, taking great thought into her options, “I - I’d marry Black Spider, yeah.” She nods to herself, proud of her decision.

 

Foggy, disheartened at Karen’s words, responds with, “You’d kill me?”

 

The blonde’s brow crinkles in confusion, her friend’s words not quite connecting with her sluggish brain. “Well, I guess, if I _had_ to, but I’d be very, very, very, very, _very_ sad about it.”

 

Vlad bursts out laughing, some of the burning liquid spurting out of his mouth. Matt has to hide his grin, mainly to help keep some of his best friend’s pride. “Sorry, Fog. I’m sure it’s the alcohol talking, anyways.”

 

Foggy just slumps into the couch, which they moved over to face the window, so their group seemed more unified. Karen’s sitting on the ground, her back leaning against Foggy’s shins, though every few minutes she’ll shift her position. Going from a regular sitting position, to an attempt at mediation, to pulling her legs up in front of her to rest her head on her knees.

 

“Yeah, whatever,” he sulks. “What about you, Mr. Quiet,” Foggy juts his chin in Anatoly’s direction. “You seem like a Scarlet Witch kinda guy, am I right or am I right? So… Scarlet Witch, your brother, or Fisk,” Foggy’s tone is smug, knowing full well he backed the younger Ranskahov into a corner.

 

It’s obvious Fisk is hated by all the people in this room, but Anatoly has a special grudge against the man. Being beaten to the pulp and then almost decapitated by a car door by the man can leave somewhat of a grudge against his attacker. Thankfully, Vladimir had bothered to show up, not wanting his brother to be left to the task of dealing with Fisk alone. The battered brother barely made it out alive, he’d been put on bed rest for months recovering from a concussion, broken nose, collarbone, and ribs.

 

So basically what Foggy’s asking is if Anatoly would rather fuck or marry his brother. Because he just _has_ to kill Fisk.

 

“Kill Fisk, marry Scarlet, and fuck my brother. You are strange little weasel, but could you imagine being tied down to this shit?” Anatoly jerks his thumb at his brother. “Would be very unpleasant.”

 

“Shut up,” Vlad pushes Anatoly’s shoulder, sloshing some of the vodka onto his shirt.

 

Matt rolls his eyes at the brothers, able to make out their movements with his sense of smell and heightened hearing. “I feel like I’m the only adult in this room,” he mutters to himself, taking a small sip of the German beer he keeps in the fridge.

 

“Oh? Should we bring you down to our level?” Vladimir challenges.

 

Matt snorts lightly. “I highly doubt that, but you may try.”

 

“Me, the… ah reindeer one,” he pats his brother’s shoulder once more.

 

“Loki,” Anatoly supplies helpfully.

 

“Right. Me, Loki, Foggy.”

 

“Two criminals and me? Well, _obviously_ he’s going to marry –”

 

“Fuck Loki, Marry Vlad, Kill Foggy.”

 

Everything goes silent for an entire ten seconds, Matt keeps count until Foggy’s voice booms through the quiet apartment. “WHAT THE HELL MAN?”

 

“It’s a game Foggy, I’m sorry but I can’t fuck you,” Matt smiles behind his beer bottle.

 

“Could have married me, hell, even Scar Face’s own _brother_ wouldn’t marry him. This game is evil, all my friends want me dead,” his best friend simpers.

 

“You would marry me?” Comes the surprised tone of Vladimir.

 

“I guess so,” Matt can feel his skin heating up, hear the quiet rush of blood traveling to his cheeks.

 

All Vladimir gives in response is a low hum and Matt has a feeling that he’s not going to let this go.

 

For the next two hours, drinks are passed around, jokes are jabbed at one another, and Karen ran to the bathroom on four different occasions. Every time Matt’s turn came up, he could feel Vladimir’s intense gaze boring into his body.

 

“Okay, blond one, your turn. Fisk, Wesley, Matt,” Vladimir challenges.

 

Foggy shifts in his seat, preparing himself to speak clearly. “Fisk… he’s out of here, totally dead. I’d… marry Matt – even though _he_ wouldn’t marry me and left me for the fishes. Fuck Wesley, because it’d be a onetime thing and that man was freaky.”

 

By the third hour, Karen’s passed out and Foggy retreated into Matt’s bedroom, taking the drunken girl with him. “So,” Matt drawls out. “Next Saturday sound good?”

 

“You want us back over?” Vladimir asks.

 

Matt raises his bottle – having given up on sticking to his own alcohol a few hours back – not quite sure if it’s vodka, tequila, or whisky. “Good alcohol,” he slurs.

 

“Never thought I see day where you let guard down,” Anatoly muses, enjoying the view of the vigilante swaying as he tries to clean up the living room.

 

“I’m fine,” he says deeply, trying to pull off his ‘hero voice’ to make himself sound more serious.

 

Vladimir’s laugh booms through the area. “Matt, tell me again. You would marry me, yes?”

 

Matt stumbles closer to the sitting Russians, his socked feet sliding unstably across the floor. Not really caring where he lands, he collides awkwardly into Anatoly’s lap. “Truth? I’d marry _and_ fuck you,” he whispers into the younger brother’s ear.

 

“Wrong Ranskahov,” Anatoly murmurs, though his hands trail up and down the hero’s waist.

 

Matt reaches out, grasping for the other brother. “Both. I’d fuck… yeah I’d fuck and marry you _both._ You deserve it for good alcohol,” he slurs, pulling Vladimir closer.

 

“Americans,” Vlad grins at his brother. “Cannot handle their liquor, much benefit for us.”

 

Anatoly hums in agreement, enjoying the feel of the drunken Devil of Hell’s Kitchen in his arms. “Is this what you want, Matthew? To be fucked by two Russian crime lords? Is that why you call us here?”

 

“You talk too much,” Matt pouts, moving his ass provocatively against Anatoly’s private parts.

 

“Do not hog him, brother,” Vladimir growls, arousal and jealousy piquing up in his chest at the sight of the hero.

 

Anatoly nips at Matt’s neck, who lets out a ridiculously loud moan. “Fuck,” he pants, pulling Vladimir closer.

 

The three form an awkward pile, Anatoly holding the other two’s weight as Matt makes Vlad kneel in between both of their legs. The two kiss quickly and sloppily, noses bump and Vlad’s pretty sure the pain in his side is from Matt accidently kneeing him. The criminal has to pin the hero to his brother just to cease his squirming. “You are jittery drunk, is annoying,” he grumbles.

 

There’s no response from either of the men beneath him, both too engrossed in their activities. Anatoly already had Matt’s pants halfway down his ass and Matt’s fumbling with Vladimir’s belt with one hand and using his other to drink out of one of the discarded bottles. He looks at his brother, raising an eyebrow.

 

“I am horny, he is horny, you are horny. Why not?” And that’s all Vladimir needs.

 

Vladimir pulls Matt up into his arms, steadying him enough to pull him over to the couch. Anatoly starts stripping, pulling his shirt off with little effort and kicking his shoes over in the corner. Vlad throws the vigilante onto the couch and undoes his belt for himself. Soon both the brothers are naked, neither too bashful around the other, both of them used to seeing the other indecent at one time or another.

 

Matt smiles up at the Russians. “I love the way stripping sounds, it’s so… freeing,” he purrs.

 

It doesn’t take long for the brothers to pull the rest of Matt’s clothes off, making his entire body shiver from the cold. Laying across the leather couch doesn’t help much with the goosebumps nor does the frigid touches from the brothers’ roaming hands. Two strong bodies ensnare themselves around Matt, fingers coiling around his hair and pressing against his arms, neck, and back.

 

“This little game,” one of them breathes against his ear. “Fuck, marry, kill. It is much more fun when you follow through, no?”

 

“Not killing Foggy,” the hero pants out, enjoying the feeling of one of their tongues tracing down his neck.

 

“No fun,” Vladimir mutters, taking great care of opening Matt’s legs open.

 

“Fucking… I can follow through on fucking,” he resolves.

 

“But you wanted to marry Vladimir,” Anatoly teases.

 

“Then you wouldn’t get to fuck me,” Matt cries out as Vlad starts massaging two fingers into his ass.

 

“He has point brother, no need to marry us yet,” Vladimir jokes, enjoying the way Matt’s body writhers against his touch.

 

Anatoly traces his fingers up and down the hero’s shaft. “Fine, no killing, no marrying, just fucking. Sounds nice, yes?”

 

The hoarse scream of yes is easily heard through the walls, making Foggy and Karen groan into the pillows on Matt’s bed.

 

“I can’t believe that is happening, I’m not drunk enough for this,” Foggy complains, curling up under the covers.

 

“No one will ever be drunk enough for this.”

 

“Matt is, apparently,” he counters.

 

“Ugh, okay, fine. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has alcohol poisoning, though, that’s the only way to explain it.”

 

Foggy moves in closer to Karen, their foreheads touching. “Well, there’s only one way to pass the time,” he whispers.

 

“I think I know just what you mean,” Karen giggles, pushing herself up by her elbows.

 

“Fuck, Marry, Kill… Vladimir, Anatoly, and Matt,” Foggy states.

 

“Fuck Anatoly, Marry Matt, and so, so, _so_ kill Vlad.”

 

“Agreed, a thousand times agreed.”


	2. Night After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt wakes up to an unexpected bed mate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> littlebirdy3tweet: Vlad is a heavy sleeper and does not like being woken up.  
> I added a little bit to this, for some reason I really liked the idea of this being Matt's first time with another man. It's short but, hey, it's something. I'll have to work on making longer one shots for you guys, when it's not 3 in the morning xD

Matt awakes to an uncomfortable heat clinging to his body.

 

“Ugh,” he groans out.

 

The hero freezes when a gruff growl echoes his groaning, not expecting that his companion from last night would be here this morning. An arm circles around his waist, pinning him tightly against a broad, scarred chest. Matt doesn’t want to be in this position, stuck underneath his enemy nor does he want to risk waking him up either. A leg shoves its wave in between his own, the knee pressing against Matt’s crotch.

 

Gently, Matt places his hand over the sleeping man’s fisted one, slowly pulling it over and onto the pillow. It works, so he starts moving himself away from the unconscious lump. Sadly, he doesn’t get far, mainly due to the fact that as soon as Matt moves his legs his unwanted companion rolls over on top of him. Now, Matt’s considers himself pretty strong, but the man crushing him is easily fifty pounds heavier.

 

The hero pinches his eyes shut, annoyance bubbling in his chest. Matt tries to push him off, succeeding in only jostling him slightly, but enough to pull himself out from under him. As he begins his roll off the bed, a hand latches onto his wrist. “Running away so soon? I knew you are coward,” comes the gritty voice of Vladimir.

 

Matt pauses, cursing the Russian silently for being a light sleeper. “I wasn’t running away, I simply didn’t want to wake you up.”

 

“Good,” he mutters, pulling Matt back into his arms. “Go back to sleep then, mudak.”

 

Warm breath tickles his ear and neck as Vladimir shifts closer, pressing his crotch directly against Matt’s ass. The hero flushes as he thinks of last night, embarrassment flooding his system. He’s never slept with a criminal before, never slept with a man.

 

“I didn’t think you’d be here,” Matt whispers groggily.

 

“Morning, idiot, time for sleep,” Vladimir huffs. “Why would I leave own apartment?”

 

Right. It doesn’t take long for the previous night to come back to Matt. The long night prowling the streets, keeping his city safe. The last thing he expected was the long-thought dead Russian to be walking down the street. Matt didn’t even think when he confronted the man, asking how he was alive and why he hadn’t contacted him – not that he needed to, Matt just felt like he was owed at least that.

 

What the hero wasn’t expecting was the obvious attention Vladimir gave him, complimenting his new suit, flirting… showing his dominance. Matt had never experienced the feeling of being hit on in such a way, usually it was him doing the flirting and chasing. Flirting and chasing girls. He remembers Vlad promising him a good time, not even explaining how he was still breathing. And Matt just went along with it.

 

And now he’s here, sore ass and the telltale signs of being fucked.

 

“I’m not gay,” Matt states more to himself than to the man spooning him.

 

“Will you shut up? No time for life crisis. Time for sleep,” Vladimir hisses out, his arm squeezing tightly into Matt’s stomach in warning.

 

He listens to the Russian’s breathing slow down as sleep takes him over once more. He counts the steady heartbeat, trying to tune out his thoughts with the overwhelming presence of Vladimir Ranskahov. It takes a while but eventually Matt is able to drift into a very shaky sleep.

 

…

 

Matt’s eyes fly open at the sudden lack of bed underneath him. “Fuck,” he yelps as hits the ground.

 

He scrambles to his feet, confusion and irritation mixing together at being abruptly kicked out of bed. His sleep fogged mind not even realizing the perfect opportunity to make his escape, the only thing to make sense is to go back to sleep. Matt lands nearly overlapping Vlad, arm strewn across his back and face pressing against his shoulder.

 

“Why’d you kick me outa bed?” Matt slurs into his bicep.

 

“Woke me up with your squirming,” his voice is muffled by his pillow.

 

He’s about to respond but feels Vladimir’s body tense, making the words die on his lips. Matt lays there, debating on whether he should just get up and leave. Exhaustion wins out mid-thought and he curls up against the Russian for warmth.

 

…

 

“FOGGY. FOGGY. FOGGY.”

 

“What the _fuck_ is that?” Vladimir practically roars in Matt’s ear.

 

He blinks blurrily, grasping onto the criminal’s shoulder as he comes to. “It’s… my cellphone. I’m getting a call.”

 

“Turn it off,” he growls.

 

He pushes the hero out of bed and Matt staggers around to his pants, pulling the phone out from the back pocket. Setting the phone to vibrate, Matt quietly starts picking up his strewn pieces of clothing. When he starts putting them on, an annoyed, “Back to bed,” is demanded and the hero groans inwardly but obeys.

 

“What time is it?” He asks.

 

“Noon.”

 

“Fuck,” Matt curses. “I’m missing work.”

 

“Too bad, should have thought of that before staying night.”

 

Matt’s face heats up. “I didn’t mean to,” he reasons.

 

Vladimir, now semi-awake, sits up. “But you did. You were lonely and I was willing to lend hand. You do not get to leave morning after, you left me once. Not again.”

 

Guilt immediately seeps throughout his chest. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Do not apologize, just come here.”

 

Matt crawls back into the bed. “I’m not gay,” he says for the second time today.

 

“Neither am I. Does not mean you are not good fuck,” Vlad comments.

 

“I don’t know if I can do it again.”

 

“You liked it. Kept moaning my name in sleep,” he smugly states.

 

Matt wants to believe he’s making that up but from the steady heartbeat, he knows what Vlad says rings true. “Doesn’t mean it’ll happen again.”

 

Hands grip his ass, squeezing the cheeks hard, pulling a moan long whine from the hero. “You liked being fucked by me. We both know this, do not deny.”

 

“I thought you wanted to sleep,” Matt pants out.

 

“Something woke up me,” Vladimir purrs against his ear.

 

The hero shivers, knowing full well he’s not going to get out of this and, honestly, he’s not quite sure if he wants to. He moves closer to the criminal.

 

“Always time for sleep later,” Vladimir hums.

 

Matt pulls Vlad on top of him. “Better tire me out then,” he challenges.

 

“With pleasure.”


	3. Break Up Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Break Up One Shot – Anonymous:  
> If Vlad and Matt were to break up after being in a committed relationship why do you think they would? Would it be Matt's double life? Vlad's past (current) crimes?An emotional barrier?I see Matt and Vlad as people who can't talk to other about their feelings bc Matt doesn't want to bother others and Vlad just can't trust anyone to be that open with them.Would one of them just slowly fall out of love and suddenly realize it one moment when the other does something they used to love but hate now?  
> I just thought I'd let you guys know, I find it really hard to write these two falling out of love. I see them as the type of characters that cling on till one of them fucks it up by accident. You may have noticed the title says Break Up PART I, so yeah, I plan on writing a sequel to this bad boy and have even started to write it. I was just going to make it one long one, but it just didn't seem like a break up one shot when I did it like that. I prob won't post that one next though because you guys have so many prompts and I really want to work on them for you! I hope you guys enjoy this one <3

"You have been gone all night," is the first thing that’s out of Vladimir’s mouth when Matt comes trudging through the door.

 

“And you’re drunk,” he says, knowing full well how this conversation plays out.

 

“Only because you are not here to stop me,” he huffs, reaching for the tumbler he set on the counter.

 

Matt strips, ripping off the mask and throwing it near his bedroom door. He loses his shoes, shirt and pants, all ending up near his room, waiting to be put away like every night. “I’m your boyfriend, not your babysitter, Vlad,” he sighs, finally letting himself feel the exhaustion he’s been fighting off for hours.

 

The Russian rolls his eyes, ignoring his partner’s strip tease, mainly because it’s just that: a tease. “And I am not some pet you can lock up, yet here we are,” he rants, waving his free hand in front of him.

 

Neither of their voices raise, it’s long past that. This fight has been going on for the past three months and now the two are just tired. Neither willing to budge on their beliefs and now both just accepting reality as it is. All they have left are words, but even those ring hollow now.

 

“You know going out there risks you being found,” Matt states, his feet padding against the floor as he searches for his medical kit.

 

“Don’t lie,” the criminal sneers. “You don’t want me out of pretty cage because there is no trust. You worry I will do bad deed, you worry I will not come back. Like a master worry’s over his dog.”

 

“You ran a fucking human trafficking ring, Vladimir. I think I have the right to worry over the fact that my boyfriend is a criminal,” Matt grits out, more upset with the pain in his side than the spiteful words from the Russian.

 

Vlad eyes the vigilante, taking notice in the large gash going from his ribs to hip. He takes the bottle of vodka by its neck and makes his way over to his boyfriend. “Should have told me you are hurt,” he murmurs, taking a closer look at the wound.

 

“Didn’t think you’d want to waste the alcohol,” Matt says half-seriously.

 

“Lay on side,” he commands, leading the injured man to the couch. The hero lays down, his back facing the criminal.

 

Fingers graze his neck and arm and Vladimir tells himself that it’s because he’s searching for any other cuts or bruises, not because it’s been a month since he’s last fucked Matt. The Russian’s not quite sure how their relationship came to this, the lack of intimacy, the gap in between their conversations, the way they just seemed to have given up. Vlad lets himself get lost in the once familiar skin, enjoying the firm muscle and the slight puckered skin from long-healed scars. He leans in close, wishing he could fix what broke between them.

 

“Vlad,” Matt’s voice is quiet but it does the trick to snap the man out of his musings.

 

“Right,” he says dully, pulling away from his boyfriend to grab the vodka. Vlad doesn’t give him any warning, just pours the clear liquid over the wound. Matt’s body goes taunt in an attempt to not wither at the searing pain and Vladimir can’t help the sick satisfaction at the sound of his groan.

 

“Not bad enough for stitches. Gauze will do,” Matt slurs out.

 

Vladimir cleans off the wound with a towel, ignoring the pink stains of blood on his fingers and fabric. He scrounges for the bandages out of the kit and starts taping him up. “I’d say bedrest, but we both know that won’t happen,” Vlad rumbles as he cleans up the mess.

 

“You know it’s not that simple,” Matt grunts, working his way up into a sitting position.

 

“Your fight is inevitable lose. One man against entire city of crime is fool’s death wish. Why not try and fight something you can win, something worth saving,” Vladimir knows what he’s saying can be easily interpreted as a plea to salvage their relationship, but both are too stubborn to actually say what needs to be said.

 

Matt’s quiet for a moment, wanting so bad to just give in. To be selfish and let the city rot, to be able to fix what little of a relationship he has left with the Russian. And that’s the problem, Vladimir makes him selfish, he makes him want to do wrong by this city and just give in. “This city is worth saving,” he says harshly, getting up and staggering into his bedroom. He ignores the armor and falls straight into the bed.

 

Vlad looks at the closed door, anger and hurt battling one another inside of him. He picks up the vodka bottle and downs it in one swig. “Fuck heroes,” he growls to the empty room.

 

…

 

Matt’s hit by the potent smell of booze, peanuts, and filth as soon as he opens the door. “You went to a bar?” He asks.

 

Vladimir shrugs, not caring if it pisses the hero off. “You are not my keeper, just lousy boyfriend.”

 

“Then why bother staying?” Matt’s tone is bitter, not really meaning what he says but deep down maybe he does.

 

Vladimir freezes, he knows it’s been bad, him feeling like a caged dog and Matt drowning in the guilt of caring for the enemy. But not once has Vlad threatened to leave nor has the hero asked him to leave. It hurts like tiny needles pinpricking across his chest, even the slightest breath causes pain to shoot towards his heart.

 

Matt notices his slip up and fear grips him, thinking the criminal might actually call his bluff and leave. As much as they’re at odds, the hero doesn’t think he can do this without Vladimir. He’s become so used to the villain being there, a constant presence in his life. Someone who he can lean on, even if that leaning has been more of pushing lately.

 

“I…” Matt tries to tie the words together in an attempt to take back what he said, but nothing comes out.

 

Vladimir doesn’t say anything, just grabs his coat and pushes his way out of the apartment. Matt just stands there, stock still as he listens to the retreating sound of his boyfriend’s heavy footsteps.

 

Matt tightens his fist, the leather gloves relieving some of the pressure he exerts. He takes in the room, letting everything Vladimir evade his sense and if he tries hard enough he can hear the ghost of a heartbeat in his ears. It takes everything in the hero to not chase after the criminal, to apologize and try to make things right. He doesn’t know what to do, the anger inside of him riles hotly in his stomach, demanding the hero do something.

 

The vigilante hears the crash of the lamp before realizing he lashed out, it subsides the pit in his stomach, something that only Vladimir was able to do. The couch is next, he flips it over relishing in the sound of the frame cracking. Matt lets himself go into autopilot, strategically kicking, punching, and destroying whatever he came in contact with. A calmness overcomes him and Matt collapses to the ground, panting out small puffs of breath. The churning in his stomach is still there, uneasily bating him on.

 

In the middle of the debris that can be considered his life, Matt stands up. He steps over the broken pieces of furniture, weariness shaken off by the dark feelings swirling inside of him. Instead of heading to his room – where he should be going, for health’s sake – he makes his way out of the apartment. The only thing Matt can see himself doing is what he’s meant to do: protect this city. Whether if it’s to keep him from thinking of Vladimir or to keep the devil at bay, he isn’t quite sure. All the vigilante knows is that he needs to break something, it might as well be some drug dealer or mobster’s face.

 

…

 

Vladimir plops down onto the stool, not caring that he was sitting in the same exact spot barely two hours ago. “Grey Goose,” he tells the bartender, who raises an eyebrow at the Russian but pours the drink.

 

“Lady troubles?”

 

“Oh, shut up,” Vladimir growls, he never understood what makes a man behind a bar counter think he can just butt into his person life.

 

The man snorts, unamused by his costumer’s rudeness. He slides the drink over and Vladimir tilts his head back and downs it. As soon as the glass hits the counter, it’s refilled, much to the Russian’s relief. That’s how most of his night goes, sulking over the counter while he slaps back the burning liquid, just to have the bartender fill it back up again. It doesn’t take long for Vlad to get a good buzz going, making it oh-so-easy to distract himself from little, nagging thoughts urging him to go back to Matt.

 

“You look awful lonely, big guy,” a voice purrs.

 

Vladimir glares at the woman who has taken it upon herself to sit in the stool next to him. “Maybe that is because I want to be alone. Fuck off.”

 

Her lips are a shockingly bright red, almost annoyingly so. She leans into the bar, her arms under the bottom of her breasts to push them up just for Vladimir’s benefit. He takes a long look, his eyes blatantly staring at the woman’s boobs. “Or maybe it’s because you need a friend. I’m Terri. With an I not a Y, sweetheart.”

 

Slowly he drags his gaze back to her dolled up face. “Vladimir,” he says.

 

“I knew you were Russian. You’ve got that whole vibe going on, girls gotta love that accent. I know I do,” Terri breathes out, scooting closer to Vlad.

 

He knows this is a bad idea, hell, Vladimir’s not even attracted to the woman. But when her hand slides onto his pant leg, all he does is wave the bartender down for another drink. It’s hard to ignore the long nails grazing up and down his leg, each time trailing closer and closer to his member. “What is it you want, exactly?”

 

“Just to have a good time, baby doll, that’s all,” the nickname makes the Russian cringe.

 

He offers her his drink. “What you have in mind?”

 

Terri flashes him a smile, something that could have been considered pretty if she didn’t have so much lipstick caked on. Vladimir can’t help but think her entire set up is tacky. Short, leather skirt, high heel boots, a leopard print v-neck, all topped off by bleach blond hair. All Vlad can think is: _exact opposite of Matt._

 

She takes the shot, tan fingers lingering against his own, before pulling back. “Alleyway’s right next door. Could maybe get… better acquainted there, don’t you think?”

 

Vladimir shrugs, throwing some bills onto the counter. He stands up and gestures for the girl to get up as well. “Good a place as any,” he mutters.

 

“Don’t sound too excited, sweetness,” she coos, wrapping herself around Vlad.

 

The couple walks out of the bar, Terri playing gently with the zipper of Vladimir’s jeans. And by the time they’re in the alleyway he’s half hard.

 

The only thing Vladimir thinks of as he bites down on the girl’s neck is how much he wishes this is Matt. 


	4. Do You Like Straddling Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The-lavi-to-your-kanda: After Vladimir’s heart stops and Matt pounds his fists on his chest until it starts again like I mean the only thing that would actually make that scene better would be if, out of pure exhaustion, Matt just sits back where he is and just momentarily forgets he’s actually straddling Vlad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to let you guys know that I haven't watched ep 6 in a long ass time, so if I got anything wrong sequence wise... that's why. Also, there might not be a one shot posted for a little bit because I'm going to work on the next chapter of You Feel Like Home for you guys. I think I've decided that every three oneshots I'll work on a chapter for that story. That way everything is kind of even, work load wise and content wise. Enjoy!  
> P.S. if you have any prompts you'd like me to write about for this collection send me an ask at my tumblr: http://bloggingnstuff.tumblr.com/

There’s silence – well, not exactly there’s actually plenty of noises rattling around the old building and even more in the chaos outside. But when it pertains to the limp man beneath him, there’s absolute silence. No groaning, sound of movement, there’s no heartbeat. It’s actually quite annoying.

 

“Fucking Russians,” Matt grumbles, clasping his hands together against the dead man’s chest.

 

He thumps his hands repeatedly, knowing full well that this most likely won’t work – mainly due to the fact that he’s a vigilante not a trained medical professional. Matt listens carefully, not allowing Vladimir to get off easy. It’s the Russian’s own damned fault he’s dying, the idiot shouldn’t have tackled him.

 

“Come on,” he growls, anger rising in his own chest as he listens for any life in Vladimir’s.

 

Each pump and no response makes the hero’s hope in getting any information dwindle. Matt knew it was a long shot from the start, but all the information he needs is _laying right in front of him._ Like hell he’s going to give that up without a fight.

 

A stutter breaks through the quietness and Matt actually lets out a small laugh, it’s hysteric and broken but there’s hope. As his hands continue to push down on the criminal’s chest the beating picks up. “Wake up, Vladimir. Not the time to play dead,” he berates, his hands still on his chest but no longer pumping his chest to life. All the hero does is feel the stringy heartbeat to make sure his hearing isn’t playing a trick on him. His fingers trail up to his neck to take feel for an actual pulse and that’s when wet coughs erupt violently from the Russian.

 

“Fuck,” Vladimir croaks.

 

Matt pulls his hand away but Vlad grasps onto it, needing an anchor to keep conscious. There’s a moment where the Russian thinks he’s waking up from a long night of satisfying sex. Opening his blood-caked eyes brings him to a rather confusing sight though, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is in his _lap._

 

Neither say anything for a moment, Matt too busy checking for any other life or death injuries and Vlad content with the weight on top of him. Slowly things are coming back to him, blurry images of the masked man’s body before they fell through the floor.

 

“Could not let me die. You are fool,” he spits, blood and saliva flying out onto the man’s shirt.

 

“You’re the genius who thought it’d be a good idea to tackle me _through the floor,_ Vladimir,” his words are harsh but the tone he uses is a mix between amused and worry.

 

A pitched chuckle breaks through Vlad’s torn lip. “It was fun.”

 

The laughing turns into rough coughing, pain exploding from his chest and side. The criminal’s head throbs painfully against the splinters of wood and shrapnel. He wants to call out for his brother, used to having Anatoly patch him up after long nights of fighting and shoot outs. It’s so easy to forget what’s been lost when distracted by pain. Familiarity and instinct is all that’s left in the weary.

 

Matt’s listens carefully to the once dead man’s pained whimpers. “Brother,” he hears murmured multiple times, but most of his words are slurred. The hero isn’t too sure if the Russian’s actually trying to tell him something or if it’s just the ramblings of a desperate, dying man. He isn’t even sure Vlad’s going to make it out of this, not when he’s so weak. Matt can hear the already sluggish pace of his heart slow and he does the only thing he can do.

 

“Vladimir, wake up, it’s me… Anatoly. Wake up, brother,” Matt says against his ear.

 

The grip on his wrist tightens and the words are like a kick start to the Russian’s system. His adrenalin rushes and his heart speeds up fast enough that it’s almost at a regular pace. A bloodied hand raises to Matt’s cheek and he’s almost positive it’s over then and there when the criminal’s hand feels the edge of his mask. But Vladimir trails it down to his neck, pulling the hero closer; their foreheads touching.

 

 “My brother,” he cries out quietly.

 

If Matt didn’t have to get information out of this dickhead, he’d probably feel guilty for this. Probably. “You have to wake up, Vladimir. Can you do that for me?”

 

Vladimir blurrily looks up at his brother, starting to see clearly, think clearly. “You go far as mocking my brother’s death to keep me alive. If I was not in so much _fucking_ pain, I would kill you,” he hisses at the mask then pauses. “I still might,” he adds thoughtfully.

 

“You’re angry at me for keeping you alive,” Matt tries to soften his action.

 

“Do not pretend, we both know it is low blow. We are cruel men, you and I. One and same,” he wheezes.

 

The hero sits back and wishes he can rebut the statement though right now it seems the words are true. “Are you okay?” He asks instead.

 

“Do I look okay?”

 

“I would assume not then.”

 

"Idi v zhopu,” comes the half ass remark – it’s more said out of weariness than anger.

 

Sitting there, thinking about how he wishes he had taken Russian in college instead of Spanish, the time slowly ticks on. Noises from the outside clash around: the breaking of a door, debris being pushed aside, gun shots being fired, screams of pain, the sound of sizzling flesh and burning buildings. All of it happening throughout the city with no one to stop it. At least no one capable enough to stop it, not with the masked man down here alone with Vladimir.

 

All the noises and chaos pass straight over the Russian’s head, whose senses are too mundane to hear anything close to what the hero can. Plus, all the man can think about is getting through the pain. The only distraction he has from the searing agony in his side and, what Vlad assumes, is a piece of wood pushing uncomfortably against his aching back, is the feeling of the hero’s strong legs hugging his waist.

 

Vladimir Ranskahov is not a good man, he knows this and most of the criminal underground knows this, as well. There is no worrying guilt that represses the man’s filthy urges and if it isn’t for the incapability to move on his own, Vlad would happily flip the little hero over and take what he pleases. But for now all he gets is what the man in the mask gives, an unbeknownst – and very shitty – lap dance. Every time one of them shifts their groins rub against the other, sending arousal up the criminal’s spine.

 

Matt feels hands clutch onto his hips, blunt fingers pressing roughly into skin. “Do you enjoy straddling me?”

 

He isn’t quite sure what he’s taken aback on, the words that came out of Vlad’s mouth, the way he said them, – he didn’t think someone with such a heavy accent could actually _purr_ – or the fact that he’s actually _straddling_ the man. “I… _what?”_

“You heard me,” his voice is soft, very controlled to mask the pain.

 

Matt’s cheeks heat up and he says, “I’m not straddling you, Vladimir.”

 

Hips smack upwards colliding both of their dicks together. “Really? What do you call this? Friendly sitting?”

 

Matt pulls the criminal’s hands off of him, pinning them uncomfortably high above the man’s head. “I call it saving your life, asshole. How can you even think of something like that right now? This is the last place you should be trying to get laid.”

 

Vladimir laughs, which leads to another series of coughs and hacks. “I would be doing the fucking, you would do screaming my name.”

 

“For fuck’s sake, you’re a _criminal_ – a dying one at that – you don’t honestly believe I’d even consider –”

 

"Too high and mighty for scum like me? You take me as man who likes it dirty, what is dirtier than criminal like me? I can make you tick, make you beg, scream, whimper, moan.”

 

 

Matt snorts. “Really? In your state, the only noise you’ll get out of me is grunting as I carry your sorry ass out of here,” the hero’s words are strong and his voice is steady, but in the back of his mind there’s a part of him curious at the man’s offer.

 

Slowly Matt removes himself from Vladimir, purposely sliding his hand across his inner thigh just to hear his heart race a little bit faster. The smile on his face is small, more like a smirk but it’s easy for the Russian to see. “Tease,” he mutters.

 

He lends out his hand, offering it to the Russian. Vladimir clasps his hand with the hero’s and stumbles to his feet. Everything is wobbly and awkward, thanks to the blood loss. The man in the mask wraps his arm gently around Vlad’s waist, who’s putting his own arm along the vigilante’s shoulders.

 

“Let’s just get you out of here, okay?”

 

“Then we fuck?”

 

“Maybe, _if_ you give me the information I need, I’ll think about it.”

 

“I knew tackling you would be fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian translation:  
> 1\. Piss off/Go to hell


End file.
